The Elton John Collection
by PottersChick7
Summary: A series of loosely connected oneshots about Lily and James, inspired by the songs of Sir Elton John.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: These stories are only vaguely in a sort of chronological order. They sort of all take place around the same time, but it doesn't really matter. I know that I still haven't updated 'Lily', but I'm getting there. As of now, I have four in this collection, but there may be more coming soon. If anyone has a suggestion of a song, I am open to them, but please try to make them connect to Lily and James._**

****

**_Disclaimer: I neither own Harry Potter nor any of the songs used in this fic._**

****

THE ELTON JOHN COLLECTION

1. No Valentines

_No more Valentine's Day,_

_No more Christmas cards,_

_I've thrown them all away,_

_No more sequined stars._

What have we become, Pet? We were the best of friends, and then you turned against me. What was different between the two of us? I simply had the luck of the draw and got the gene that gave me my magic. It is dormant in you somewhere; it just chose to show itself in me.

Do you miss what we had? All of those crazy and silly traditions?

Like Valentine's Day, when we would give each other cards with the soppiest love notes we could think of. We would find them all over the house all day long, or at school. They always made us laugh, at ourselves and the girls who sighed over the corny lines when a boy gave it to them.

Like Christmas, when we would stay up all night the night before Christmas Eve to make those stars for Mum and then decorate the tree. We never let Mum and Dad help us. Just the two of us up in that big old house, decorating a Christmas tree with the precious baubles and those stars that we made every year, one with a picture of us and the other with Mum and Dad, covered in sequins and glitter when we were younger and (ever so slightly) more refined as we got older.

Did you know that I kept every single one until now, even though I would cry for hours when I came across one? I've finally accepted that you and I will never mend this bridge; even the pillars that are supposed to be stone have been destroyed. By your jealousy, your inability to accept that your younger sister has things better than you, you have destroyed what is supposed to be the most precious bond between two women.

_No birthday wishes,_

_No more surprises:_

_Who needs them anyway?_

_No reason to get excited._

Our birthdays were always the best: the little presents hidden in jacket pockets and bags, each with their own little card. I always loved that my birthday was just after the start of school; the first few years you would tuck them into my robes.

Then you realized that, while the Wizarding world wasn't idyllic, it was certainly better than whatever you'd get. That, and I hit my growth spurt and was suddenly tall and leggy and slim, but still busty, with a clear complexion and thick red hair and bright emerald eyes. Basically, I was no longer the ugly duckling. And as I'm being so honest in this letter, you were never a swan to begin with. It surprised me so much in my first year to hear that. Everyone had always said that you, with your blond hair and pale eyes and angular features, were the pretty one, whereas I was merely the younger sister. James was the one who told me that. When we were eleven, he told me I was pretty and I said that no one ever said that after seeing you and then I showed him your picture. I'm not quite sure why I did that; shouldn't I have been happy that someone thought I was pretty? But he replied by saying that anyone who thought that such a horse-faced girl was prettier than an angel like me had to be blind. I agree with him.

It surprised me how easy it was to not expect anything from you. The first time, I cried almost all day on my birthday, but by Christmas I was over it and didn't even send you your favorite candies.

_Yes I gave you everything._

_I gave you earth and sky_

_And everything in between_

_That walks or crawls or flies._

I idolized you. You were my big sister, the one I always looked up to. I would have given anything to have back our close friendship when it first fell apart, but then I looked back. You always were mean and cruel to me, even if I put it off as 'sisterly love'. You always made fun of the fact that I didn't look anything like anyone else in our family, except our great-grandmother. Of course, I later found out that she was a Squib, a person born into a Wizarding family without any powers. I wish she hadn't died when I was ten, right before I got my letter. It would have been nice to have someone in the family who I could talk to and maybe get a little information about this mysterious new world.

Of course, the positions are now reversed for me. You know 'that Potter boy', the one that I always complained about? He's now my adoring husband, as you know from the announcement, and he treats me the way I treated you, like something precious and breakable that needs to be cared for to preserve it. It may get on my nerves every once in a while, but I've gotten over it. It really is nice to have someone treat you like a goddess.

Did you know that you were the stimulus that pushed us together? You, who can't stand him simply because he thinks I'm a wonderful person, not to mention that he's rich and gorgeous and everything that Vernon isn't. It was that letter you sent me, saying that you were getting married and that I wasn't to even think about coming to the wedding. For some reason, that was the last straw for me. I ran from the table in tears and he comforted me and made the necessary excuses to our teachers for that and every subsequent letter. I still don't understand why you even wasted paper with those letters. All of it has been thrown away. I'm not sure why I kept them in the first place, but they've all gone into the garbage as James and I are moving out of the apartment as the remodeling is finally finished on our house.

_No Easter mornings;_

_It's your cross now._

_Keep it all for yourself;_

_It's overrated anyhow._

So now you get to live with what you have done, the relationship you have destroyed because you are Petty Petunia who always had to be the best. Well guess what? I think I've one-upped you in everything that counts. I'm throwing it all behind me and there it will stay. I'm not going to cry anymore on holidays when we had our traditions. I'm going to rejoice in the fact that I have James, and a son on the way, and friends who support me more than you ever did.

Easter was the hardest to get over after that letter, because I was actually home for that vacation. I even thought that we could make up, so I snuck into your room on Easter morning, like I always had, and put Thumper on your bed. Looking back, I laugh at how you shrieked when he started nibbling on your nightgown. At the time, I remember being heartbroken. I think that was when the seeds of doubt that we would ever be the same were planted.

Has anyone told you that familial love is overrated? It really is. Out of all the people I know, I think James is the one who gets along the best with his entire family, including Sirius who isn't even related but may as well be. All of my other friends have parents/siblings/relatives that they can't stand, but James gets along with everyone. I find it incredibly funny, especially the fact that every female Potter, wife or child, has red hair. James was blushing so hard when his father told me that.

_But keep my Valentine,_

_I'll keep my bleeding heart._

_Just let me out of here_

_Before the sentimental music starts._

_And your regrets_

_Fall like empty lines,_

_Like the lies we write on Valentine's._

But I digress from my point. As of now, I no longer will think of you as my sister. You are the girl with whom I was unfortunate enough to grow up. You no longer need to think of me, you can forget I even existed if it makes you happy.

Just keep my Valentine.

_I'll keep my bleeding heart._

_Just let me out of here_

_Before the sentimental music starts._

_And your regrets_

_Fall like empty lines,_

_Like the lies we write on Valentine's._


	2. Chapter 2

_Apparently no one likes this story? tear That makes me sad. Reviews make me happy. I also thought I'd mention that, until further notice, all of these were written pre-DH, actually on a very long train ride in June. I understand why JKR started Harry Potter on a train: THERE'S NOTHING ELSE TO DO!!!!!!!!!_

_Here's the second chapter. I think it's the shortest and most abstract of them all._

THE ELTON JOHN COLLECTION

2. Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

_What've I gotta do to make you love me?_

_What've I gotta do to make you care?_

_What do I do when lightning strikes me?_

_And I wake to find that you're not there?_

How do I convince you that this isn't simply an infatuation? I truly love you. I can't even remember a time when I didn't like you in some way.

Our first year, when you couldn't get your trunk on the train and then looked so surprised that a random person would help you, was one of the most memorable of the seven we spent together at Hogwarts, probably because we could have actually been called friends that year. Then one prank went wrong and you accidentally became the target after I had promised you that you and your friends would be safe. I lost your trust through one stupid mistake, like now.

I figured out that I was in love with you at the start of our fourth year. Something in my perception of you changed; I still haven't figured out what. It certainly wasn't your looks; I had told you in our first year that I thought you were the prettiest girl I had ever seen. You then responded that no one thought that after seeing her sister. You showed me her picture and I wondered how anyone so ugly and bony could be more beautiful than you. Not to say that you weren't beautiful in our fourth year, but that thought of mine had never changed, even if you did grow up.

Whatever the cause, a switch in my head was flipped from 'I like Lily' to 'I am _**in love with**_ Lily'.

There is a phrase in French for love at first sight that translates to being struck as if by lightning. Seeing you on the train that year was hardly the first time I had seen you, but I still felt like I had been struck by lightning.

Then my heart broke when you didn't feel the same.

_What do I do to make you want me?_

_What've I gotta do to be heard?_

_What do I say when it's all over?_

_And sorry seems to be the hardest word?_

I did everything to get your attention. I know that I came off as an arrogant prick or an egotistical bully or an irresponsible prat or whatever your insult was that day; all I wanted was for you to see me. Even if you hated me, it was still better than indifference. It's a fine line between love and hate and all that stuff.

When I was fourteen, I certainly had no idea how to actually go about getting a girl. I still don't really. I just tend to play it by ear and pray to whatever deity is listening that it doesn't go SNAFU.

And then, in our seventh year, all my dreams came true. You agreed to go out with me, to be my date, to be my girlfriend, my best girl, the one I could tell anything and everything, my best friend. Mine to love, to hold, to spoil, to cherish, to pamper, to hug, to kiss without being slapped.

I did all that and more.

And now I've gone and screwed things up so badly that 'sorry' is meaningless and so hard to say because it wasn't my fault!

_It's sad (so sad)_

_So sad_

_Oh it's a sad sad situation_

_And it's getting more and more absurd._

_It's sad (so sad)_

_So sad_

_Why can't we talk it over?_

_Always seems to me_

_That sorry seems to be the hardest word._

It seems so strange that our entire relationship is based on the fact that we argue to keep the sparks flying, and yet this one important argument is one that we can't even seem to talk about.

One week ago, it started.

Two days ago, you left to crash at a friend's house. It must be a girl thing to cling and bemoan the faults of the male population when something goes wrong. My mates are somewhat less than sympathetic. We men just tell each other to get over it, and yet here I am moping about our apartment because it still smells of your perfume, the one I bought you for your birthday just days after graduation.

Today, I realized that I couldn't live without you and that maybe, _maybe_, I had a way to win you back.

_What do I do to make you love me?_

According to you, just be myself.

_What've I gotta do to be heard?_

Make my intentions known without any embellishments or pretenses.

_What do I do when lightning strikes me?_

Go after my epiphany.

_What've I gotta do?_

Get you back.

_What've I gotta do?_

Say I'm sorry.

_Sorry seems to be the hardest word._


	3. Chapter 3

THE ELTON JOHN COLLECTION

3. Blessed

Lily Potter, née Evans, woke to the sound of singing. It was a comforting sound, unlike the usual harsh cries of her ten-month-old son. She got up and slipped on her robe before going down the hall to her son's room. As soon as she left the room she shared with her husband of nearly five years, she could hear the words of the song and smiled as she recognized it and the singer.

_Hey you,  
__You're a child in my head:  
__You haven't walked yet  
__Your first words have yet to be said.  
__But I swear –  
__You'll be blessed._

James had been singing this song to Harry for several months as far as she knew. He always stopped if she came in; it was a very private father-son moment. She liked to do as she did now: linger in the hallway to listen to her husband's soothing voice.

_I know,  
__You're still just a dream:  
__You're eyes might be green  
__Or the bluest that I've ever seen.  
__Anyway –  
__You'll be blessed._

She always had to stifle a laugh at that stanza because it fit them so perfectly. Before Harry had been born, the Healers had told them that a baby's eye and hair color were likely to change in the first few months of life. Their baby boy had been born with James' bright blue eyes and they had frequently had one of their friendly bicker-fests about whether or not his eyes were changing to Lily's emerald green or if they would stay like his father's.

James' argument was that of course his son would look exactly like him (conveniently forgetting that his son had more of his wife's facial structure than his own).

Lily said that he should have her eyes to make up for the fact that he already had 'that rat's nest you call hair'.

Their friends knew better than to take sides; Sirius was the only one with a voiced opinion – that the boy should have one eye of each color to keep both his parents happy. When that incited another bout of 'arguing' (everyone knew it was in fun, Lily and James just argued), he had gone so far as to cast a glamour so that Harry had his godfather's silvery-grey eyes, a neutral color, according to Sirius.

Lily had won when her son's eyes changed to and stayed the same emerald green and almond shape as her own.

_And you, you'll be blessed  
__You'll have the best, I promise you that.  
__I picked the star from the sky  
__And pulled your name from a hat.  
__I promise you that,  
__Promise you that,  
__Promise you that  
__You'll be blessed._

And have the best their baby certainly did. Not a week went by when at least one of his grandmothers didn't bring him another toy or book or outfit or…well, anything really.

The baby shower had been insane. The Potters had given them the most beautiful crib that Lily had ever seen. It was mahogany, hand-crafted with invisible joints and carvings of magical animals. It had almost embarrassed her how much money they had obviously spent, especially since she had been told that Harry wouldn't get James' crib; he had managed to blow it up in a bout of uncontrolled magic. Almost. But after their wedding, anniversaries, birthdays, and shopping trips with her mother-in-law 'just because', Lily was coming to accept the fact that she, the daughter of a Muggle professor and a secretary, had married into a family with titles in both the Wizarding and the Muggle world.

In Wizarding society, she was Lady Potter, wife to the heir of one of the oldest families and largest fortunes in the society. Her sister, who had gloated endlessly of marrying the CEO (and candidate for president) of a successful company, was once again put in her place by the announcement of their engagement in the paper.

_Daniel Potter, Duke of S—, and his wife, Victoire, are pleased to announce the engagement of their son, James, Earl of S—, to Lillian Denise Evans. The couple met at University and plan to wed in April of this year._

A large picture of the two of them accompanied the announcement. It had been taken at the Christmas Ball that the Potters always hosted, though the original photo moved. The two of them were dancing, completely oblivious of any of the other people in the room or the camera. Petunia had made one of her rare visits to their shared apartment (the 'cottage' in Godric's Hollow was being renovated) to throw the paper in her face and start ranting about how she always had to take away the spotlight and how was it that she had kept him around when it was obvious three years before when they got engaged that she hadn't been pregnant. At the sound of her shrieks, James and his parents, who were visiting to go over wedding details, came to investigate. Lily's face had gone dead white when her sister started her tirade; all she had ever wanted was for the two of them to get along. James saw that and gently led her into the other room before she collapsed as his parents dispatched Petunia.

That was not to say that she had known about his titles. They hadn't started dating until seventh year when she accepted his offer of going to the New Year's Ball as his girlfriend and then he had proposed right after graduation. Their friends had been surprised at the suddenness (and her sister had accused her of being a whore and pregnant), but they didn't even touch on the topic of marriage for a year and a half; James said that he proposed knowing that they wouldn't marry for some time but that their parents would approve more of their living together. By the time they did get married, they had been engaged for nearly three years.

She had met his parents for the first time at the graduation ceremony, where she and James had had a dead tie for valedictorian. She didn't go to the manor (as they called it; it was more like a small palace) for another six months. If the house hadn't been her first clue as to how wealthy the Potters were, the small boulder set in gold that his mother passed on to her left her with no doubts. This was a big tradition for the Potters – pass down the engagement ring to the oldest (or only in James' case) son's fiancée on the in-laws' anniversary.

Luckily for the Evans family, it was tradition in the Wizarding world for the groom's family to pay for the wedding, dating back to the early sixth century or before when most wizards were high-born and their prospective wives, who had to be witches, often came from very poor or destitute situations. Lily's parents had given a sigh of relief when she told them this. Petunia's wedding had strained their finances enough. Funding two ceremonies for their daughter to enter the highest echelon of society was beyond them.

The celebrations had lasted a week: five days of traditional pre-wedding parties (of both societies), then the Wizarding ceremony officiated by Albus Dumbledore, and finally culminating with a highly publicized Muggle wedding at Ely Cathedral. After all that insanity, they had spent two weeks in the Greek isles on one of the Potters' private yachts that was almost the size of a small cruise ship.

"Lil?" She started. Sometime in her reminiscing, James had finished putting Harry back to sleep. "What're you doing up? It's only two."

"I woke up and you weren't there. I just wondered where you were."

James knew that Lily had been listening to him sing and she knew that he knew, but each ignored it, as usual, and went back to bed.

* * *

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were sitting and talking with the Lupins after dinner at the latter's home. Harry and Remus had made it a tradition after Voldemort's defeat to celebrate Lily and James' birthdays and anniversary as a way for Harry to connect with the people who had made it possible for him to defeat Voldemort. Beyond giving him his life, they had assisted at the final battle. Harry had used his own wand to create the Priori Incantatem and then pulled out his father's wand to finish off the other wizard while the wraiths, mainly his parents and all four grandparents, distracted him. The wraiths had managed to linger long enough for each to speak to Harry. When they finally faded away, Harry could clearly see the tears in his mother's eyes as his father put his arm around her waist and waved, calling out that he didn't want to be seeing him any time soon.

Ginny soon-to-be-Potter couldn't stop staring at her left hand. She and Harry had been dating for nearly seven years (she didn't count the six months after Dumbledore's death when he was trying to be noble and had defeated Voldemort). He had proposed two months ago, but it suddenly seemed so official when Remus and Tonks, standing in for Harry's parents, passed down the centuries-old ring. Her brain was still struggling to realize that, much to her surprise, she would be becoming Lady Potter and a duchess in the next few months.

In a brief lull in the conversation, the end of a song could be heard on the wireless.

_I need you  
__Before I'm too old:  
__To have and to hold  
__To walk with you and watch you grow.  
__And I know –  
__That you're blessed._

"Is that the original singer?" Harry asked Tonks, who followed music religiously in both worlds. "I could swear that I've heard someone else singing it."

"You have just discovered James Potter's worst-kept secret." Harry looked confused at Remus' words. "He used to sing that song to you to put you to sleep. It was supposed to be his big secret, but everyone knew and he knew it, so we all just pretended that we had no idea how Prongs could magically put you to bed when even your mother couldn't. It only worked for your father though. Sirius said that he tried it when he found you screaming after your parents' murder but you just got more worked up, like you knew that that wasn't who was supposed to be singing it to you." Remus smiled. "Though not to insult his memory, but Sirius didn't have close to James' talent." Harry agreed, having heard his godfather butcher Christmas carols in his fifth year and seen the memories of some of his father's more outrageous attempts to woo his mother, one of which involved a Valentine that sang a soppy love song in James' voice.

Two years later, Harry Potter woke at three in the morning to his son's crying. Ginny was dead to the world after a full day of a fussy baby, all her nieces and nephews, and a traditionally crazy Weasley dinner on top of being six months along with extremely active twins, two boys to be named James and Sirius when they finally graced the world with their presence. Remus had shuddered when told of this after already having accepted the position of godfather; he said they were inviting pranks from the world beyond and the wrath of Minerva McGonagall when the boys started Hogwarts.

Harry entered eight-month-old Nathaniel's (after his mother's father) room. After feeding him, he still refused to calm down.

Harry cradled his son to his chest and started to sing as his wife stood in the hall…

* * *

**A/N: And now there's a little extra something, because you can't have them have twins named after two of the Marauders and then not say anything!**

"_Potter! Bl-Potter!_"

"Uh-oh."

"We're in for it."

"She almost called you Black."

"Run for it."

Two boys ran down the hall and dove into an alcove. They pulled out their wands and intoned in tandem, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." A map appeared on a very old and crinkled piece of parchment.

"Look, she's gonna come down this hall."

"Peeves is right there, he could intercept her."

"How do we get him to do it?"

"Promise him WWW products."

"Works every time."

"Shall we do it?"

"Let's."

Identical fifteen-year-old twins James and Sirius Potter let out a series of low whistles and trills. Down the hall, they saw Peeves the Poltergeist salute and pass through a wall. A few moments later they heard a shriek as the Headmistress was ambushed.

"Don't think I've forgotten this, boys!" she yelled as they ran to the stairs. "You wait until your father hears!"

"He won't care!" they replied together.

"Your mother will!"

"Not if Dad distracts her!"

It was a normal conversation for the Potter twins and they knew the routine well: McGonagall would send a letter to their parents, their mother would be upset and their father would be proud. He would 'distract' her by various unmentionable methods and she would send a Howler three to four days after the fact. She wasn't ever _really_ upset; as long as no one got hurt she would merely threaten them and never follow through.

Unfortunately, this time was different; the Howler arrived after only two days. All the same, their three siblings (Nathaniel in 6th year, Jessica in 3rd, and Anna Lynne in 1st) looked on in glee as the Howlers were always amusing.

_SIRIUS AND JAMES POTTER! YOU TWO ARE ACTING EXACTLY LIKE THE MEN WE NAMED YOU FOR!_

_And I'm very proud of you._

_HARRY, NOT HELPING! _(They could practically see their father rolling his eyes behind his wife's back.)_ IF EITHER OF YOU DO ANYTHING ELSE THIS YEAR, THERE WILL BE NO TRIP TO THE NEW STORE IN NEW YORK WITH YOUR UNCLES!_

The letter promptly burst into flames but another rose like a phoenix, handwritten from their father.

_Boys – _

_As I mentioned in the Howler, I am very proud of you. Sorry I didn't keep your mother occupied longer, Lizzie Rose has been a handful. Don't worry about the trip, I'm sure you can lay low for the last three days of term (remember Moony's lessons: subtle __**can**__ be better). See you in a few days and there's a note on the back from your sister._

_Love, Dad_

The back was almost entirely illegible, but they could tell that their four-year-old sister loved them and couldn't wait to see them.

"Guess we should get a note down to the house elves so they don't send up the powder."

"POTTERS!"

"Too late."

"Lizzie had better calm down so Dad can shag Mum really well to forget this."


End file.
